Sherlock: Confetti (Drabbles)
by IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: Drabbles and one-shots set in the "Give Me A Label" universe. Warnings in individual drabbles.
1. And I Didn't Mean to Fall In Love

**Author's Note:**

 **Main Pairing:** Gregory Lestrade/Mycroft Holmes

 **Side-Pairings:** Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Dimmock/Molly Hooper, Sally Donovan/Anthea, others

 **About:** Each chapter will be an individual drabble set in the universe of "Give Me A Label (I'll Make Confetti)", most likely before, during, and after the main story. Mystrade will be the main pairing, but other pairings and characters will feature frequently. The drabbles aren't in chronological order unless stated otherwise.

 **Warnings:** Warnings will be posted in individual drabbles, however you can expect slash and bad language to be present in a few.

 **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

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 **(01) And I Didn't Mean to Fall In Love...**

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 **Summary:** Their youngest son doesn't believe that Mycroft can play guitar.

 **Title:** A Lonely September by Plain White T's

 **Warnings:** Mild sexual content

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'Tony.' Greg knocked on his son's open door and stuck his head into the room. 'Do you know when your brother will be home? He's not answering his mobile.'

Tony looked up at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, textbooks and notes spread over the bedspread. 'Um... I think he said six? Or maybe seven. Alice is visiting her grandparents tomorrow, so I know that Mrs Joyce is driving him home.'

'Ah,' Greg hummed. He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. 'You know, it's about time Henry started going for a girl with brains.' He winked at his youngest son. 'Believe me, mate, it's always the smart ones you want.'

' _Dad_!' Tony hissed, and his eyes darted towards his desk. Greg blinked when he realised that there was someone else in the room- Juliet Harris, if he remembered correctly. Was she the girl that liked Tony? Or the girl that _Tony_ liked?

'Oh, hey there,' he smiled at her. 'When did you get here?'

'Hi, Mr Lestrade,' Juliet said, giving him a bright smile. 'After school. Mr Holmes picked us up.'

'Papa said that she could stay for dinner,' Tony added defensively. Greg nearly snorted. He and Mycroft had a hell of a time keeping girls out of Henry's room. As long as the door was open, it was all good; Henry was only seventeen, and Greg was _way_ too young to be a grandparent.

'Yeah, yeah, I heard you,' Greg waved a hand at Tony. 'So, what are you kids up to?'

Tony rolled his eyes- he'd started insisting at age eleven that he wasn't a _kid_ any more- but Juliet answered easily; 'English homework.'

'Still having trouble with that?' Greg asked his son. English wasn't Tony's strongest subject; he was better at maths and science.

'Yeah,' Tony nodded. 'Juliet's real good, though.' His cheeks turned a bit pink at that and he glanced at Juliet, who smiled shyly in return. _Well, well, well,_ Greg mused. Tony looked like Mycroft, but his personality tended to match Greg's; something he must have just picked up when he was little. Then again, Greg had never had any trouble with admitting when he liked boys... except for Mycroft, of course.

He nodded once before his attention was caught by the bags in the corner, dumped against Tony's wardrobe; Tony's school bag, a folder, some more textbooks, a guitar case...

'Is that yours?' he asked Juliet, gesturing at the bag.

Juliet smiled brightly. 'Yeah,' she said. 'I've been playing since I was five. My dad and uncle are in a band together, so I got into it pretty early.'

'Hmm.' Greg hummed before adding, 'You know, Tony, your pop plays guitar.'

Tony's eyebrows shot up. 'What? Really?' Greg nodded. 'No he doesn't, he only plays piano,' Tony frowned. 'I've never seen him play guitar.'

'They're in storage; in the attic,' Greg said. 'I don't think Mycroft's played in years.'

'I don't believe you,' Tony huffed. Greg couldn't blame him; Mycroft was a gentleman, and he tended to like the finer things in life. It was rare that he regressed to the teenager he'd once been; punk rock, make-up, and tight clothing were mostly kept in the past. Though Greg could sometimes convince him to dress up when his mum watched the kids for the weekend, and sometimes they listened to their old CDs when they were in their study together, both going over paperwork.

'You don't believe me?' Greg said, laughing at the head shake Tony gave him. 'Okay, then.' He backed out of the room and turned to shout down the hallway; 'Mycroft!'

'No shouting in the house!' Tony immediately singsonged.

'There's also a rule about no running, which you always forget,' Greg said. He pointed a finger at his son. 'Don't think that I didn't notice it this morning.'

Tony pouted, and he kept the look on his face until Mycroft appeared.

'Is there a reason you're screaming, Gregory?' he drawled.

Greg grinned. Mycroft was wearing trousers and a button-down shirt, tie askew and sleeves rolled up. He'd been working hard lately on something-or-other, Greg didn't know the details; most of Mycroft's work was top secret.

 _Damn sexy beast,_ Greg thought before saying, 'Tony doesn't believe that you play guitar.'

One of Mycroft's eyebrows climbed. 'I _used_ to play guitar,' he corrected.

'What?' Tony spluttered.

'Like you've forgotten,' Greg rolled his eyes. ' _Eidetic memory_.'

Mycroft pursed his lips, and Juliet broke the silence. 'I play guitar,' she piped up, and gestured at it when Mycroft turned to her.

'I see,' Mycroft mused. 'And I suppose that Gregory wants a demonstration of my skills.'

'Yes please,' Greg beamed. Once upon a time they'd kept Mycroft's guitars, piano and keyboard in the spare room, but it'd become Tony's room when their youngest was born. Mycroft's piano was now in the family room, and he played it every weekend. His guitars, sadly, had been packed away and pretty much forgotten.

'I haven't played since Sherlock's Christmas party four years ago,' Mycroft said.

'What? I didn't see that!' Greg said as Mycroft entered the bedroom. He walked across to the guitar bag and deftly unzipped the side, pulling out a dark blue electric-acoustic guitar.

'You were...' Mycroft trailed off and glanced at Tony. 'Otherwise occupied.'

'Was Dad drunk?' Tony demanded bluntly.

'I don't get drunk!' Greg denied.

'The entirety of your teenage years say otherwise, Gregory dear,' Mycroft said with a smirk.

Greg glared at him, and Tony said, 'Does Grandma have pictures?' but his dads ignored him.

'May I?' Mycroft asked Juliet, who nodded. Mycroft sat on the bed beside Tony and plucked at the strings, only stopping to turn one of the pegs. 'The strings are new,' Mycroft commented. 'And the guitar is well-cared for.'

'I've had it for three years,' Juliet told him. 'Dad said he was going to buy my an electric guitar for my birthday next month. I'm torn between a Gibson, a Fender, and a Gretsch White Falcon.'

'What do you have, Pop?' Tony asked Mycroft, edging closer. He looked like he was starting to believe Greg, his light blue eyes on his father's left fingers, which were curling into chords over the second fret, though he hadn't started playing yet.

'I have an acoustic, a Fender, and a sunburst Gibson Les Paul Standard,' Mycroft told him. 'They'd need new strings by now, as well as a clean, though the cases should have protected them.' He strummed once, the sound filling the room.

'Play our song,' Greg demanded.

Mycroft's eyes jumped to his. 'I doubt that Anthony knows it.'

'So?' Greg huffed.

Chuckling softly, Mycroft's fingers curled into a chord that Greg couldn't name, and he strummed once. After three soft knocks on the body of the guitar, he started playing and singing softly;

' _I'm sittin' here all by myself, just tryin' to think of somethin' to do..._ ' His voice was deeper than it had once been, not as smooth, but it still brought up images of Greg and Mycroft sitting in the latter's room at Holmes Manor, Mycroft playing and staring at Greg, telling him- without really saying it- how he felt...

 _'I'm tryin' to think of somethin', anythin', just to keep me from thinkin' of you..._ ' Mycroft's eyes were closed, and Tony was staring at him, mouth hanging open. _'But you know it's not workin' out 'cause you're all that's on my mind..._ ' Mycroft sang, ' _one thought of you is all it takes to leave the rest of the world behind... oh._ '

He switched into the chorus, fingers flying smoothly over the strings. ' _And I didn't mean for this to go-o... as far as it did... and I didn't mean to get so cloose... and share what we did... and I didn't mean to fall in loove... but I diid,_ ' Mycroft's eyes opened, landed on Greg, and Greg grinned. Yeah, he remembered this part. _'And you didn't mean to love me back, but I know you diid..._ ' Mycroft sang.

' _I'm sittin' here tryin' to convince myself that you're not the one for mee... but the more I think, the less I believe, and the more I want you here with me... you know the holidays are coming up, I don't wanna spend them alone... memories of Christmas time with you will just kill me if I'm on my own..._ '

He sang the chorus again, eyes locked onto Greg, singing the song to him, just like he had years ago...

'. _.. and I didn't mean to fall in loove... but I diid! And you didn't mean to love me back..._ ' Mycroft was playing harder now, the chords louder and bouncing off of the walls, his thumb and index fingers strumming. _'I know it's not the smartest thing to do, we just can't seem to get it right..._ ' Mycroft was still looking at Greg, singing their song for him.' _But what I wouldn't give to have one more chance tonight.._ '

The song softened after a beat, Mycroft plucking instead of strumming, his eyes at half-mast but still on his husband. Greg could vaguely see Tony and Juliet staring at Mycroft, both teenagers transfixed, but he was too focused on his partner to truly take them in.

' _I'm sittin' here tryin' to entertain myself with this old guitar..._ ' Mycroft hummed, _'but with all my inspiration gone, it's not getting' me very far..._ ' The song picked up again, Mycroft playing hard, playing for Greg- _'I look around my room and everything I see reminds me yoou... oh please, baby, won't you take my hand, we've got nothin' left to pro-oove..._ '

Mycroft slipped seamlessly back into the chorus, eyes never leaving Greg's, fingers sure. His voice was louder again, singing strongly;

' _And I didn't mean to meet you then... when we were just kids..._ ' Greg grinned. _'And I didn't mean to give you chills... the way that I kiissed! And I didn't mean to fall in loove, but I diid! And you didn't mean to love me back, but I know you diid..._ '

Hell yeah did Greg love him back. He had even when Mycroft had first played this for him, he just hadn't realised it yet... and Mycroft hadn't been able to say it.

 _'Don't say you didn't love me back, 'cause you know you diid... no you didn't mean to love me baack... but you diid..._ ' With one last strum the song was over, the strings re-vibrating softly before eventually fading out. Mycroft and Greg stared at each other for a beat before the red-head finally cleared his throat and looked at Tony. 'It seems that I still remember how to play,' he commented.

Tony looked _dumbfounded_ , blue eyes wide and jaw hanging open. Juliet started clapping and Mycroft smiled at her as he handed the guitar back.

'The song is old,' Mycroft said, 'but I found that it summarised mine and Gregory's relationship perfectly.'

'Hell yeah it did,' Greg grinned. 'Still does, actually.' He turned to glance at Tony, who'd finally managed to pry his eyes off of his papa. 'His kisses still give me chills,' he added.

'DAD!' Tony shouted, looking completely grossed out. Greg couldn't help himself; he laughed. Years and years ago his mum had told him that embarrassing your kids was just damn good fun, and something that parents couldn't help. He hadn't believed her at the time, but now... well, he _was_ his mother's son.

'I'm sure that you have homework to do,' Mycroft said as he stood, 'and I have work to do,' he added, pointedly look at Greg.

'Hey, our son didn't believe you,' Greg said with a shrug. 'Had to set the kid right.'

'M'not a kid,' Tony grumbled.

'Homework,' Greg pointed at him and ignored the eye-roll the fourteen-year-old gave him. With a wave Greg and Mycroft left them to it, the door still open; Greg could vaguely hear Tony and Juliet talking as he and his husband walked away.

'So...' Greg hummed when they reached his and Mycroft's shared study.

'So?' Mycroft echoed.

'You've still got it,' Greg said. He stepped closer to his partner, crowded him against the half-open door.

'It appears so,' Mycroft mused.

'You'll have to get your guitars out and play for me,' Greg said. 'I miss it.'

'I thought you enjoyed my piano playing?'

'Oh, I do,' Greg nodded. 'But I miss punk-rock Mycroft.' He let his eyes skim down Mycroft's body, still trim even after all these years, maybe holding a bit more weight around the middle due to Mycroft's relatively slow-paced profession. 'We'll dig some black jeans out, maybe buy some eye-liner.' His gaze swept back up to Mycroft's. 'Get Mum to watch Henry and Tony for the weekend...'

Mycroft smirked at him, and before Greg could stop him the younger man had them turned, Greg forced against the door frame, Mycroft's fingers hooked around his wrists. Greg let Mycroft raise hiss hands and pin them to the wood above his head.

'Yeah,' Greg breathed, 'you've definitely still got it.' Mycroft swooped down to kiss him, still taller than Greg, still able to snatch Greg's breath away. The DI moaned and pushed against his husband, Mycroft one long line of heat against his body. Mycroft's tongue assaulted his mouth and Greg groaned harder, tilted his head to deepen the kiss and bite roughly at Mycroft's lips. Christ, if Tony wasn't just down the hallway Greg would-

'Hey,' he growled when Mycroft pulled back.

Licking his lips slowly, Mycroft caught Greg's eyes; his own were dark. 'As much as I would like to continue this...' Mycroft breathed, 'Anthony is-'

'Yeah,' Greg interrupted, 'no, you're right. Uh...' He flexed his wrists, but Mycroft's grip was strong. 'I could always blow you; that only takes, what, five minutes?'

Mycroft swallowed thickly and Greg gave him a cocky grin. 'When we first got together, it only took you three,' Mycroft taunted after a few seconds.

'Is that a challenge?' Greg demanded.

Mycroft's swollen lips morphed into a sharp grin. 'If you can get me off in three minutes or less, I'll top tonight when the boys are asleep.'

'Oh, I'll get you off alright,' Greg growled. He managed to steal another kiss before Mycroft was backing into the study, dragging Greg after him.

Greg slammed the door shut and locked it behind them. _Three minutes?_ he mused as he stared at Mycroft, the politician already undoing his belt. Oh, he could _definitely_ do it in less.

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 **Author's Note:** I CANNOT STAY AWAY! Heheh, anyway, this story will just consist of drabbles, one-shots, and anything else I can think of that fits within the "Give Me A Label" universe. I don't really have any more planned- well, one or two- but I figured it'd be easier to lump them all together in one story. Thus, if I write any more, I'll add them here.

Cheers,

Dreamer


	2. The World Will Never Ever Be the Same

**(02) The World Will Never Ever Be the Same**

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 **Summary:** Greg takes Mycroft back to the park where they had their first date all those years ago. You see, he has a question to ask...

 **Title:** Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's

 **Warnings:** Mild language

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'I can't believe how much Greyson Lake has changed,' Mycroft commented.

Greg smiled as he leaned against the railing. 'It's actually a _lake_ now.'

'It _was_ a lake, once upon a time,' Mycroft said, 'before it became...'

'A shit hole?' Greg said. Mycroft chuckled and leaned against Greg's shoulder. It was too cold to be out, especially at four in the afternoon. But Greg had insisted, so they'd left their stuff at Maggie and Phil's and headed out on Greg's bike.

Greyson Lake had turned into a nice family area. The lake was large, with ducks and geese and various other birds swimming about and ducking their heads below the water. Trees lined the circumference, there was a boardwalk and picnic areas, they'd even built tables, a playground, toilets and an in-door barbecue area. If you wanted to spend a nice Saturday afternoon out you didn't have to go to the beach; just pop by Greyson Lake and have a nice meal.

'We should come back in summer,' Mycroft said. Greg hummed. 'Or maybe spring; before it gets too hot.'

Greg smiled and tilted his head to look at his boyfriend. 'When are we _ever_ gonna have time to do that?'

'Francine's birthday is in spring,' Mycroft reminded him.

'Now you just gotta convince Mum and Phil to have her fifth birthday at Greyson Lake,' Greg said. 'You know, the place where idiotic teenagers used to come to get drunk and have sex.'

Mycroft chuckled. ' _We_ used to be those teenagers.'

'That's my point. Not sure Mum'll wanna come here, even though it's all sparkly and nice now.'

Mycroft shook his head and pushed back from the railing. He tossed the last of the bread Greg had brought into the water, watched the hungry little ducks gobble it up. 'Can we go now?' he asked and pulled his coat tighter around his body. 'I'm cold.'

'But you're adorable,' Greg said. He turned to face Mycroft properly and grinned as he looked the red-head up and down. Mycroft was wearing black jeans and a simple black t-shirt. But the coat was charcoal grey, slim-fitted and accented with a black and red scarf that hung down to his belly. Smart, casual, yet with a hint of the old punk Mycroft that Greg had first fallen in love with.

Mycroft frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. 'M'cold,' he mumbled.

Greg had to laugh. Goddamn it, Mycroft just got cuter the older he got. 'Okay,' he agreed and Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief. 'But we have one more stop.'

Mycroft groaned and grumbled but followed along when Greg led the way back to the carpark. His bike was parked beneath a tall tree, their helmets hanging from each handlebar. Greg tossed Mycroft his and smiled at the scowl Mycroft wore as he pulled it on.

It took them just under an hour to get to their final destination. When Greg turned his motorcycle off he realised that Mycroft was shaking. 'Something wrong?' he asked when he tugged his helmet off.

' _One stop_ ,' Mycroft growled. ' _One stop_ , Gregory.'

'This _is_ our final-'

'It took a bloody hour to get here!' Mycroft snapped.

'Calm down,' Greg said. He pushed Mycroft when the taller man climbed off of the bike and Mycroft nearly tripped over. He threw Greg a foul look and nearly dropped his helmet. 'There's a reason we're here.'

'Is there?' Mycroft drawled. 'Do you, perhaps, have a nice hot soup waiting for me? You'd better.'

Greg smiled and locked his bike before putting his helmet down. He held his hand out and wiggled his fingers, the leather of his gloves rubbing together. 'Come on.'

Mycroft sighed and muttered something in French that Greg couldn't quite make out; it was probably a few choice curse words. But Mycroft took Greg's hand, hung his helmet off of one of the handlebars, and allowed Greg to drag him through the trees.

Mycroft clearly didn't recognise the area. Greg did. Then again, he'd scouted out the area the week before to make sure that it was still nice. He'd made sure to draw a detailed map so that Maggie and Phil could leave the basket of goodies in its proper spot. He was pretty sure that they were still there, actually. He wouldn't put it past his mum to be hiding in the bushes with her mobile out, just waiting.

Greg didn't care. He just wanted to do this here, right now, before he and Mycroft officially moved to London. Their new house was filled with boxes, nothing in its right place. Mycroft had taken two weeks off work so that they could sort everything out and Greg didn't start training for another three.

Greg definitely wanted to go into their new place as a new couple. He wanted to start his life with Mycroft... _properly._

'Gregory?'

Greg pulled himself from his thoughts and glanced at his boyfriend. They'd reached the picnic/playground area and Mycroft was frowning, blue eyes scanning the area.

'Yeah?' Greg asked.

'Is this...' Mycroft's frown deepened before he remembered; 'This is where we had our first official date.'

Greg smiled. 'Yeah,' he said, 'it is.'

'Why did you want to come here?' Mycroft questioned. He turned to look at Greg, one eyebrow up. 'It's nice, of course, but it can't be more than ten degrees out and it's getting late.'

'Just come with me,' Greg ordered. Mycroft was clearly confused- and annoyed- but once again allowed Greg to lead him forward. Greg manoeuvred Mycroft until he was sitting on one of the swings and stood in front of him.

'Gregory-'

'This is where we had our first official date,' Greg interrupted. Mycroft's eyebrows rose and he frowned.

'Yes, we just established that,' he mused.

'Just shut up for a minute,' Greg said, pointing a finger at Mycroft.

Mycroft snorted. 'Very well.'

'Okay... okay...' Greg ran his fingers through his hair, then groaned and tugged his gloves off. He shoved them into his jacket pocket and tapped at the left pocket of his jeans. Yup, still there. 'I'm gonna be really bad at this,' Greg admitted.

'Bad at what?' Mycroft asked.

'Um...' Greg took a deep breath and glanced to his right. The concrete area across the park was covered and atop the table Greg could see a picnic basket. He smiled. 'Mum came through.'

'Pardon?'

Greg chuckled and turned back to his boyfriend. 'So, I wanted to do this right; take it slow,' Greg said. 'But you're right; it's fucking cold, and I kinda wanna eat something nice and warm. I think Mum bought some new thermoses and made some soup for us.'

Mycroft was frowning proper now; eyebrows furrowed, lips turned down. 'Gregory, are you feeling al... right?'

Mycroft trailed off and finished with a question mark. Because Greg had decided, _fuck it_. This was Mycroft Holmes; Greg's best friend, his boyfriend, the guy he'd been living with since upper sixth form. There was no right way to do this... probably a lot of wrong ways, but Greg was pretty sure that this would be okay.

So he got down on one knee and spent a good minute fighting to get the ring box out of his jeans pocket.

'Greg?' Mycroft gaped.

'I wanted to do this here,' Greg said. 'I mean, I coulda taken you to Baker Street Academy, or done it at Greyson Lake, or... fuck, my old house probably woulda been just as romantic.' Greg chewed on his bottom lip before taking a deep breath. 'But this was where we _officially_ had our first date. We were actually dating when we came here; we both knew that we liked each other. And it was a nice day, a nice date, and... I really wanted to do this here.'

'Greg,' Mycroft repeated. He wasn't crying but definitely sniffing. He reached up to rub at his pink cheeks, clearly taken aback.

'Mycroft Edwin Holmes,' Greg said and smiled when Mycroft chuckled, 'you're the love of my life. I can't believe how unbelievably lucky I was to have met you in high school. Most people have to wait years to find their other half. I met you at fifteen and got to be with you at seventeen.'

'I was sixteen,' Mycroft interrupted, 'when we started fooling around.'

Greg scowled. 'Hey, don't steal my moment.' Mycroft giggled and apologised; wiped at his cheeks and then his eyes. 'My point is that I _know_ we're meant to be together,' Greg continued. ''Cause we've fucked up a lot, and we've fought, and we've ignored each other and... we've always come through, together, stronger than we were before.

'We're probably gonna fight some more in the future 'cause that's what people do,' Greg added. 'And... the next time we fight, I want us to be engaged. And then I want us to be an old married couple, just fighting and bickering and making up so that we can have sex and tell each other we love each other. Because stupid fights are fine when you can work through them with the person you love.'

Greg licked his lips and opened the box. Inside were two plain gold rings; he knew that Mycroft wouldn't want anything fancy.

'Mycroft,' Greg said and looked back up at his boyfriend, 'will you marry me?'

Mycroft launched himself at Greg. He tossed them both to the ground and mounted Greg, cold lips finding cold lips and mashing them into one. Greg groaned into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck, because _hell yeah_.

'Is that a yes?' Greg panted when they finally broke apart.

'YES!' Mycroft shouted. 'Fuck, Greg- yes, I'll marry you!' He laughed wetly at the end; and there were the tears, streaking Mycroft's cold cheeks. Greg grinned and shoved Mycroft up so that he could slide the ring onto Mycroft's right hand. The gold ring clinked against the black one that Greg had bought Mycroft years ago.

'Remember?' Greg said as he and Mycroft both stared at it. 'I told you that it was just a temporary place holder; to get you used to wearing a ring all the time so that when I proposed, you'd be used to it.'

Mycroft laughed. 'I do,' he said. 'And I told you that I'd prefer it on my right hand.'

'Yeah,' Greg said. 'So, do you wanna...?' he trailed off and held the ring box up for Mycroft.

'I'd be honoured,' Mycroft said. He took the ring out and slid it onto Greg's ring finger; on his left hand, 'cause Greg was definitely a traditionalist... at least with this. 'Will _you_ marry _me_?' Mycroft asked.

'Duh,' Greg muttered. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Mycroft's. This kiss was soft, sweet- and wet, because Mycroft was _definitely_ crying.

'I love you,' Mycroft murmured.

'Love you, too,' Greg replied. 'And I brought soup.'

'You did?'

Greg nodded and pointed at the table to their far right. 'Mum knew I was gonna propose. I asked her to bring some food. We can have a quiet moment here before heading back to her house. I'm pretty sure that Mum has a whole party planned.

Mycroft giggled and sniffed one last time before getting to his feet. He helped Greg up and wrapped his arms firmly around Greg's waist. 'That sounds like Margaret.'

'Yeah,' Greg agreed. He led the way, Mycroft hanging off of him every step. Not that Greg minded; he was pretty sure that he and Mycroft were gonna be physically attached for a while.

'Just one thing,' Greg said when they reached the table.

'What's that?' Mycroft asked.

'Frankie said that she wants to be the flower girl.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'Did... did _everybody_ know that you were going to propose?'

Blushing, Greg said, 'Um... maybe? I might of told Sherlock because I didn't want him deducing it and telling you. And John, Dimmock and Phil helped me pick the ring.'

Mycroft smiled and glanced down at his right hand. The band was simple, a light gold, and Mycroft adored it. He really wasn't one for flashy jewellery (unless he was going out partying, of course). The ring was simple, something that Mycroft would definitely be wearing right up until Greg put the wedding ring on his finger.

'I love it,' Mycroft said. 'Thank you. And of _course_ Francine has to be our flower girl.'

'Yeah, that's the easy part,' Greg said. He sat down and Mycroft slid onto the seat beside him.

'What's the hard part?' Mycroft asked. 'Besides planning and paying for the wedding, of course.'

Greg groaned and flopped forward onto his arms. His voice came out muffled; 'Who the hell am I gonna pick as my best man?'

Mycroft fell into a fit of giggles, not caring when Greg called him an arsehole and slapped him over the back of the head. For Mycroft it was easy; Sherlock would be his best man. But for Greg?

That was a choice that Mycroft wanted _no_ part in.

'Shut up!' Greg growled when Mycroft finally stopped laughing.

'S-Sorry,' Mycroft panted, 'but who... who are you going to pick?'

'I dunno.' Greg frowned. 'There's Dimmock, John, Doctor Phil, Yasha... hell, even Anthea!' He glared at Mycroft. 'Your choice is easy.'

'If I didn't pick Sherlock he'd no doubt have a meltdown and set _something_ on fire during the wedding,' Mycroft said. 'Of course, he'll pretend that he doesn't care that I've chosen him, only to hug me and thank me when no one's looking.'

Greg smiled. 'Gotta love Sherlock. Oh!' He jolted and once more dug into his pocket, tossing the empty ring box on the table as he pulled out his phone.

'What's wrong?' Mycroft asked.

'We need a little music, don't you think?' Greg said.

'Do we?'

Greg nodded and swiped through his music selection before finding _the_ song. As soon as the guitar started Mycroft shook his head.

'Our song?' he asked.

 _I'm sitting here all by myself, just trying to think of something to do..._

'It's _our_ song,' Greg said. 'We gotta listen to it.'

'Will we play it at the wedding?'

'Maybe you can.'

Mycroft smiled. 'I just might.' Greg put his mobile on the table and grabbed the picnic basket.

'Let's see what Mum packed us,' he said.

The song continued on in the background- on repeat until Mycroft grew sick of it and forced Greg to play some Fall Out Boy- as Greg and Mycroft dug into the warm soup, crunchy bread, and cold drinks that Maggie and Phil had packed for them. It grew darker and darker until Mycroft had to pull out his own phone to light the table.

That was until Greg found the candles that Maggie had packed, too.

Mycroft couldn't have asked for a more romantic, simple proposal, and told Greg so when they'd finished eating. Greg kissed him afterwards and called him "my fianc _é_ _"._

 _Mycroft wanted to jump him. But he'd just have to wait until they got home, he supposed._

 _After all, they had the rest of their lives to look forward to. They weren't in any hurry._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So... I was trying to sleep last night because I had work at midnight (have work tonight, too, but whatever) and I suddenly just... came up with this. I felt like this version of Greg and Mycroft would like a nice, simple proposal; a nice, simple wedding, too. So I wrote this in my head while half-asleep. I haven't written any Mystrade since the first Confetti Drabble that I wrote, so I'm a bit rusty, but it was a lot of fun.

And yes, I used "A Lonely September" again because it's THEIR SONG. It had to be done.

So yeah, this was short, but I hope you enjoyed!

Cheers,

Dreamer


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